


Can I Lie With You?

by asproutling



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Post S7, S7 Spoilers, Touch-Starved, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 20:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asproutling/pseuds/asproutling
Summary: “Any news on the Altean?”Shiro leans back in his chair and glances over at Allura. She lowers her eyes and shakes her head definitively, a pained expression on her face. “No, sir, no signs of consciousness yet. But we’re keeping eyes on her around the clock--you’ll be the first to know the moment she comes to.”Iverson nods. “And Kogane? What’s his status?”It’s been eight days since their final fight and all of the paladins had recovered (more or less)--off their IVs, bandages unwrapped, attending Garrison meetings...All besides Keith, who’s only been able to hold a maximum awake and alert time of nine minutes and thirty-three seconds, the other instances a mere three or four minutes at a time, with a total conscious time of eighteen minutes and twelve seconds-To say Shiro wasn’t keeping close tabs on Keith’s condition was akin to saying something like “two plus two equals seven” or “Romeo didn't love Juliet”: all emphatically very, very untrue.





	Can I Lie With You?

**Author's Note:**

> for @roseroyaly over at tumblr, "Touch starved Sheith who have had to survive on nothing but shoulder touches bc they've had a heavy public eye on them post s7, but when they're alone?????? Do we get... bare shoulder touches??? What about?? Face touches? Or or or.. just everywhere touches"

“Any news on the Altean?”

Shiro leans back in his chair and glances over at Allura. She lowers her eyes and shakes her head definitively, a pained expression on her face. “No, sir, no signs of consciousness yet. But we’re keeping eyes on her around the clock--you’ll be the first to know the moment she comes to.”

Iverson nods. “And Kogane? What’s his status?”

It’s been eight days since their final fight and all of the paladins had recovered (more or less)--off their IVs, bandages unwrapped, attending Garrison meetings...

All besides Keith, who’s only been able to hold a maximum awake and alert time of nine minutes and thirty-three seconds, the other instances a mere three or four minutes at a time, with a total conscious time of eighteen minutes and twelve seconds-

To say Shiro wasn’t keeping close tabs on Keith’s condition was akin to saying something like “two plus two equals seven” or “Romeo didn't love Juliet”: all emphatically very,  _very_ untrue.

They say piloting Black takes more energy, more stamina, more life force from its pilot than any other lion--and Shiro can personally attest to that fact, a hundred times over--but still…

This long of a recovery time? It didn't sit right with him. Maybe he was just being paranoid. There was nothing to worry about; Keith’s a fighter, one of the strongest Shiro’s ever seen.  _He's going to be_ fine.

Shiro clears his throat, gives Iverson a quick “The same, sir,” and quickly looks down at the table surface below, averting his gaze from any prying eyes lest they see the inner turmoil he was currently attempting to shove back down from whence it came.

“You’ll be going to check up on him soon, I take it?” Iverson asks. Shiro nods, shuffles with a few of the notes laid before him, reorders them, and hopes the meeting comes to an end soon; the man is _tired_. “Very well. Holt: I want a progress report on the reparation effort ASAP; Shirogane: status report on the IGF-Atlas, also ASAP. Everybody else: clear out, run your daily checks, and-”

Iverson’s voice trails off as he scoots his chair back and glances his down, eyebrows furrowing, continues with “-can someone get this… funky space dog off of me for a second?” The tension that hovered over the group swiftly dissipates into a cacophony of chuckles and laughter, with even Shiro joining in, Kosmo diligently rubbing his head against Iverson’s clothed knee.

He's the first to get up. Shiro bellows out “Come on, boy,” to which Kosmo perks up at, and exists the conference room with the wolf following close behind, one destination in mind.

The brisk pace he walks at leaves Shiro slightly winded, with Kosmo panting and trotting right behind, as he comes to the now familiar doorway of Keith’s temporary room. He holds his breath, as per usual, upon entry, freezing in place because he wasn’t expecting to see-

Keith’s sitting up for the first time since his admittance, a weak smile on his face as he and Krolia exchange quiet words; the look on Krolia’s face is so fond it outshines the weariness that's taken hold of her features, tenfold. Keith is the same: tired but happy, finally awake, and Shiro might be too hopeful, but… it seems like Keith will stay that way.

“Keith! You're-” Shiro stops mid sentence, finally entering the room, complete and utter relief filling his very veins as he walks towards Keith’s bed. His eyes never leave Shiro’s as he makes his way and takes a seat opposite Krolia, Keith’s smile widening. Shiro grabs Keith’s free hand with his left, holding tight, but not tight enough to hurt, missing the contact between them that was always so free and easy, so...

A breath of fresh air in a small, dank room; a shower of rainwater in the midst of a drought; the sight of a rainbow after a particularly powerful storm.

 _God_ he’d missed this man.

“Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Keith’s attention is drawn to where Shiro’s hand is resting upon his for a moment, blinks a few times before looking back up and answering. “Oh, you know… just peachy.” His voice is rough, scratchy from the lack of use. “Think I could stand to go another few rounds.”

Shiro smiles at that, Keith’s flippant tone putting him somewhat at ease. He nods to himself and takes a deep breath. “I'm so glad. You had us all worried there for a second.”

“I'm sorry.”

Shiro shakes his head--it's not like it was his fault; he would've done the same were he in Keith’s shoes. “Don't be. I'm just… I'm just happy you're alright.”

Keith smiles, the rigidity he didn't realize he was holding his body with slowly bleeding away, like a balloon deflating, returning to its natural state. “Thank you,” he replies sincerely. “But could I, uh…”

Keith motions with his head somewhere behind Shiro. Shiro looks to Keith’s left where Krolia’s seated, becoming aware of her presence again, with that almost knowing look on her face. She lifts her eyebrows, makes the same head motion as Keith, so Shiro turns around and finds a bedside table with a clear pitcher of water filled to the top, tiny little water droplets dripping down the sides onto the wooden surface below.  

He looks down at where his hand is still clasped with Keith’s, then to where Krolia’s is still clasped with Keith’s  _other_ hand-

“Oh!” Shiro takes back his hand, fast, like it'd be burned if he kept it there any longer, and gets to his feet even faster. “I should- I have reports…”

Keith looks dejected, disappointed. A weak excuse, of course, but his face felt so suddenly like it was on fire, like he'd combust so brilliantly if he were to stay any longer…

He has to get out of there.

“Yeah, of course.” Keith’s voice is soft, so small and almost inaudible--Shiro’s heart clenches at the sound.

He turns to Krolia, gives her a curt nod in the way of a goodbye, that smirk still plastered on her face. He goes to leave when Kosmo walks up to him, plops down right at his feet, and stops him in his tracks. Shiro bends down, gives Kosmo a few hearty scratches, carefully stepping over the beast, and moves to leave again when Keith speaks up.

"Shiro.” Shiro stops, turns around to see Keith staring intently his way. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime.”

 

* * *

 

 

The following weeks were… dull, considering the past few. Repairs to the Garrison’s vehicles and surrounding property were slow but being done right largely in thanks to Colleen Holt, who was now overseeing the operation. She was highly knowledgeable about the tech that was involved, and had an objectively much more commanding force in comparison to her husband.

Sam Holt was focusing on bringing Earth's satellites back online with the help of Pidge and Hunk, who were both more than happy to assist, throwing out whatever sort of arguably necessary (or unnecessary) upgrade ideas those satellites might be hit with. Communication was key, everyone learned, and if they went down again so easily who knows what would happen the next time. They needed to be ready-- _more_ than ready.

Allura, Coran, Romelle and Lance spent a good deal of their time explaining the history of the Galra--including their tech, language and tactics--to the higher-ups at the Garrison, including the MFE Pilots. The Galran War, and the group’s firsthand experience in fighting in it, understandably took up most of the discussion time. The fight was far from over, and they needed to prepare for the final battle that loomed over them all; time was of the essence.

And Keith… Keith was doing better, every day. When he wasn't busy with reports or meetings Shiro often found himself by Keith’s side, his first week after recovering in particular, like a moth drawn to a flame.

He finds Keith one day in the sparring room, hair drenched with sweat and sticking to the back of his neck, movements strong and fluid as he easily disarms James with his bayard. James hits the ground hard with a grunt and a pained expression on his face, his arms reaching behind him to try and break his fall, as hitting marble. Keith’s bayard dematerializes as he walks over and offers a hand forward, James accepting and getting up to stand with another grunt, breathing heavily.

“Your stance isn't wide enough--you need to stagger and place your feet only slightly wider than the width of your hips.” In one quick motion Keith is back in his stance, face serious and body lean, an example both James and Shiro were greedfully drinking up.

For different reasons. Maybe.

“That's what I was doing!”

“No, you were more like this.” Keith fashions his body into a twig-like state, arms planted firmly at his sides with absolutely no room for even a flea to breathe between his legs. He looks like he’d be blown over with the slightest of breezes, maybe even glide away into the atmosphere by a stronger one.

He was exaggerating, of course. Keith still probably wasn't the greatest of teachers just yet: his patience could use a little work, naturally.

“How about he watches one of our one-on-ones?” Shiro saunters forward, a fire in his belly at the sight of a worked-up Keith. He has his flight suit on from working on the Atlas earlier that day, and he was bristling with an energy that he couldn't explain. Shiro didn't miss Keith’s appreciating once-over; he wasn't one to toot his own horn but even Shiro thought he looked pretty damn good in this suit, though he still couldn’t help the way his face began to flush. “It's certainly been a while.”

Keith turns to James who answers with a shrug as he walks off to the side of the room, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the wall. Keith’s grin is devilish, mischievous, everything Shiro needs right in this moment. “Fine by me.”

Shiro stops and plants his toes a good several feet from Keith, the air growing hotter and heavier with each passing second as one man sizes up the other.

Keith wasn't going to hold back. Neither was he.

And that's just how Shiro wants it.

Keith makes the first move, as he usually does. He sprints at Shiro, all the while picking up speed, his bayard materializing halfway through his run. He leaps forward and slices the air with a downward slash as Shiro tumbles out of range, still kneeling as Keith quickly recovers and swings his blade to the right.

Shiro raises his prosthetic to just barely block the blow, sparks flying as metal hits metal, and after a second shoves Keith off with a grunt, sending him staggering back. It’s the perfect time to advance so he does, but Keith recovers quicker than Shiro thought he would, and is met with a fist to his cheek that puts him on his ass. He lands on his back with a forearm at his throat and a smug-looking Keith above him. Even though it had only been a few seconds Shiro finds himself breathing heavily--from exertion or his own proximity to Keith, he's not sure.

“Underestimating me, _captain?_ ”

“Ah… you know… you've really... improved quite a bit, _leader_ ,” Shiro says in between breaths. They both know each other so well, know  _exactly_ how to rile each other up, wise or unwise, and they both don't hesitate in taking the bait.

All in good fun, right?

“You're damn right.”

“Best two of three?”

Keith smirks. “You already know.”

“Of course I do. Ha- _ah_!” Shiro forces Keith off of him with as much power as he can muster from his position, uprights himself, and readies his body for the next fight. Keith has his blade in hand, ready as ever, and this time Shiro makes the first move.

He fires his prosthetic in Keith’s direction. Shiro’s still unpracticed with his new arm--doesn't know the full extent and range of its abilities, having only the one battle with Sendak under his belt--so he's unsure what the resulting effect will be, but in times like these you've gotta takes risks. It follows the trajectory he expects, towards the right like a bowling ball roaring towards a strike, but Keith knocks it aside like it's nothing and advances with full force.

Shiro’s arm comes back to him quick, almost feels like it snaps back in place (if that were even possible) and goes on the offensive to meet Keith’s onslaught one hundred percent with one of his own.

Shiro’s arm overpowers Keith’s blade only through sheer force of will, the force of will that it takes to keep this match going; that's his drive and it might seem shallow but it's his and he WANTS THIS.

He faints a punch to the right side of Keith’s skull with his prosthetic, to which Keith begins to raise his sword in an attempt to block, but instead at the last second Shiro brings forward his human fist towards the left side of Keith’s gut. There's a noticeable impact of force when the contact between flesh and flesh is made. While Keith’s stunned Shiro crouches down, kicks his right foot forward in a circle aiming at Keith’s legs and topples him over; he goes down without a fight, the breath stolen from his lungs.

Shiro looms over Keith, now, the full effect of their height differences taken into subconscious account, Shiro extending his right arm to lift Keith up.

“Two.”

Shiro nods,”Two.”

“And-” Keith lets loose a swipe to Shiro’s abdomen, “Three!”

Shiro sucks in, on edge and fully expecting Keith’s impromptu attack, dodges it and gives back as much he's given, and swings with his left. Keith takes the punch full force, putting Shiro off guard, surprised that Keith would be full-heartedly willing to take the hit in the area he’d just taken one a second ago, responds with a kick of his own towards Shiro’s face which he blocks, and the two men both back up a few feet, giving the other some breathing room.

“You tired yet, old timer?” Keith comes at him with, an attack in every form of the word that isn't physical, hyped up and utterly eager to see the outcome of this duel to its end.

A wide smile finds Shiro’s face at the mention of his old nickname. “Not in the least!” He fires off his arm again, once more towards Keith’s right side. Keith’s expecting it, performs the same disinterested slash that knocks it aside, and stands his ground while he observes Shiro, readying his offense or defense, depending on the circumstance.

Too little too late does he realize that Shiro’s arm doesn't come directly and immediately back to him, and hits Keith right in the back, a blow to the pancreas that would’ve left anyone stunned. Keith lets out a shriek of unbidden pain, one that signals this fight between friends is undoubtedly over.

Keith crumbles to the ground, doubling over in pain as Shiro runs to him. “ _Keith!_ ” It feels like he can't get to Keith’s side enough, rushes over in a state of overwhelming panic and guilt. He knows Keith’s still recovering, knows he needs more time, he shouldn't have pushed him-

“ _Jesus_ , Keith, I'm so sorry, are you okay?” Shiro gets out in a flurry of words. He's tending to the other man, doesn't know what he can do, but knows where he hit exactly, so that's a start.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Keith assures him, but the pain he's enduring is evident, and their forgotten audience in James steps forward, ready to take action, but when it comes to Keith’s wellbeing Shiro has dibs, bar medical staff and the like.

Much like Keith’s fall back to Earth when Shiro extracted Keith from Black’s cockpit.

That was… a bad day.

“You always were a terrible liar. Here, let me...” Shiro moves to grab the edges of Keith’s skin-tight shirt, lifting it up and over. He scans Keith’s scarred torso--one much like his own, not like he didn't know that already--notices the still prevalent bruises, places his left hand on Keith’s ribcage and attempts to gauge the pain.

Shiro’s hand is almost feather light. “Does this hurt?”

“No,” Keith replies shortly.

He applies more pressure. “And this?”

“ _No_ ,” Keith forces out, pain evident but unwilling to acknowledge it.

“How about-”

“Alright, alright!” Keith can't hold it in anymore, much to his chagrin. Shiro has his arms around Keith’s form within the second, lifting the other slowly and gently, careful not to cause Keith any more harm.

“I knew it, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m so sorry, Keith.” Shiro’s prosthetic is firm on the small of Keith’s back, and he has to take the tiniest of moments for himself to recenter his mind, the feeling of Keith’s slim waist around his larger hand short circuiting his brain.

“It's okay. Really.” The hand that’s resting around Shiro’s shoulders snakes its way up the back of his skull, lightly petting the hair at the top there. Shiro closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and relaxes into it. He loses himself to the touch; he'd be embarrassed if it were anyone else but Keith, but it's not, and it just feels _so damn good_.

“Ahem.” The clearing of a throat reverberates throughout the room, and just like that Shiro’s thrown from his reverie in an instant. The petting stops as Shiro opens his eyes, turning his gaze over to James and his unimpressed form. His arms are still crossed, one solitary finger tap, tap, tapping onto his bicep, with one raised eyebrow and two rather bored looking eyes. “You guys done? Think I'd rather smack a few dummies around.”

It's a challenge to find his voice again through all of the mortification, but Shiro manages, somehow. “Yeah. We’re going to the infirmary. Let me know if you need anything.”

James stands at attention, gives a casual “Aye, sir” before walking over towards the line of dummies, leaving Shiro and Keith to slink away.

Keith turns his face into the side of Shiro’s head, nuzzling at the hair there, mouth heart-stoppingly close to Shiro’s ear with puffs of warm air coming out in delicious waves. “God, we are so dumb.”

Shiro hasn't laughed so honestly in what feels like years.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith’s given a warning and some sort of “magical ointment” to help with his abdominal pain, which may or may not be actually helping, Keith says he can't really tell. He's also to stay away from the sparring room, but that was obvious and completely fair enough.

Shiro’s lying in bed some days later, his prosthetic powered down and resting atop the dresser nearby. The room is dark and cool. Light from the moon outside washes over the space, the stars twinkling especially beautifully tonight, Shiro thinks as he stares out at the sky through his sliding glass doors. He's tired but he can't sleep; it’s one of those nights where he can't seem to turn his brain off, can't stop thinking about the why of this, the how of that…

Sometimes it feels like he has two different trains of thoughts; one second he’d be tying his bootlaces into a double knot, only to realize at the last second they'd ended up bunny looped. He’d be writing up a report, goes to write one word but when he looks down at the paper on the table finds a different set of combined letters altogether.

The clone’s memories were his own now--some days they’d him with full force, others would form and come together in sporadic waves of hazy recollection.

Not all of them were good.

Not all of them were bad either, though. The best ones often came to him first, and one in particular stood out among the rest.

 _As many times as it takes_. _As many as time as it takes_ …

The door to his room suddenly opens, and like a summoning ritual successfully performed, Shiro makes out Keith’s silhouette in the darkness as he gently closes the door, puts his hands behind his back and leans against it.

Shiro props himself up on his elbow, the white tank top he's wearing riding up the concave arch of his stomach, revealing the skin beneath. “Keith-”

“Can I come in?” His voice is mellow and playful; he knows the answer but waits for it nonetheless.

“Of course.”

Without hesitation Keith strides over to the unoccupied side of Shiro’s bed, the latter never taking his eyes off of the former’s figure, and sits down with ease, causing the bed to shift in accordance to the added weight.

Shiro’s searching Keith’s face, who remains silent since his unexpected entry. “Can't sleep?” Shiro starts.

Keith lowers his head and shakes it in affirmation. His brows furrow before he begins to speak. “I've been having dreams--nightmares. The same few ones have been cycling through each other, though not always one after the other. It’s more like I'm reliving these memories, I guess. One night I'll wake up in a cold sweat, the light from the explosion above Earth behind my eyelids; the next I'll be drifting through the emptiness of space again, cold, hungry and scared; and the last one- the one that's worse than althe rest…”

He lifts his head and turns to look at Shiro with the saddest of eyes, the bags underneath them visible even with the lack of light, and his voice trembles as he speaks. “Our fight, Shiro. Every night I look up to the ceiling and  _beg_ I don't have to go through that again. Every time… it still feels so real and I- 

Shiro throws himself at Keith, the impact nearly knocking Keith off balance, and embraces him with his left arm as tight as he can, hopes the deep care he has for this beautiful person bleeds through to him. Keith returns the hug, softly at first before reciprocating the strength of Shiro’s arm with two of his own.

The hair before his nose is beyond a comforting presence; no matter the product used Keith’s scent is nearly always the same, always quintessentially _him_ , and it warms Shiro’s insides the way only Keith can.

“Can I just… lie with you?”

“Yes.”

Shiro’s the first to let go, albeit reluctantly, and scoots further up the bed to make room for Keith and lays down. Keith crawls over to Shiro’s left side, rests his head on top his chest and nuzzles his face into the space of Shiro’s neck, greedily covers Shiro’s body with his own. A hand comes to grip Keith’s waist subconsciously, like it was made only to be placed there.

“You know…”

“Hm?”

Shiro frowns. “I… actually don't dream anymore.”

Keith’s quiet for a moment. Shiro can feel the steady beat of his heart pressed against his side, a grounding vibration. “What do you mean? You said you were dreaming when you came out of the healing pod last time.”

“After I go to sleep I just… I wake up. I close my eyes, there's darkness, and then I open them again and it's light out.” The fist that has Shiro’s top balled up clenches tightly in response. “I don't know if it's permanent or not. I don't think the clone dreamt at all. But I haven't since…” 

“I’m sorry.”

Shiro shakes his head, his chin brushing against the top of Keith’s hair. “But if I do start to… I hope it's of you again.”

He can feel Keith stiffen above him, a nervous energy radiating from him. “Again?”

“My last set of dreams were of you--my memories of how we met, our hover bike races… Adam, too, but only for a moment. Our breakup...”

He stops himself from continuing, doesn't want to get lost to that train of thought, the wound he was suffering from Adam’s loss still fresh and obscenely raw. “But it was all of you, Keith.”

Keith tangles his legs with Shiro’s at the admission, and laughs into his chest before saying “You're an absolute, big-ass sap. You know that, right?”

“Heh. Yeah, I do.”

A comfortable silence falls over them. Keith’s the first to fall asleep, his breathing becoming even and deep. Every now and then he’ll shuffle his body around, his unconscious form doing its best to further dig itself into Shiro’s being.

Shiro smiles to himself, and he's drifting off now, too. Later that night, Shiro finally dreams again.

He dreams of the future.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> @shiros-sprout on tumblr


End file.
